


Wine Tasting

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh remembers what it was like to have Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine Tasting

White, arrow-collar shirts. That’s the first thing most people associate with Sam Seaborn. That, and those cheekbones that could cut glass.

 

Josh thinks of Sam in terms of contrasts. Sam is classical guitar; he’s air guitar. Sam is a fine blush; he’s a ruddy red mark. Sam is chess; he’s checkers. Of course, Josh could always keep up with Sam – with the opera references and tennis matches and leather-bound first editions of obscure French poetry. Josh was from Connecticut and Sam was from California, but the watering holes all had the same cultivated taste.

 

Josh sees deep beneath the surface of all that and thinks of Sam in terms of senses. The scent of aftershave under clean sweat from a night on the b-ball courts – Sam giving a-hundred-and-ten-percent while Josh coasts along, looking for an in. Sam is perfectly trimmed cuticles. Sam is the upward curve of his lips when he’s trying not to smile. Sam is a pair of blue eyes, like looking in a mirror. Like dropping pennies in the fountain of youth – make a wish, change the world. Josh is cynical and Sam is sincere, but they both reach for the same unreachable stars.

 

Josh misses Sam. Every day. Every day, he sits in his plush leather chair in his charming office in the most powerful building in the world, and he misses Sam’s tangible presence a few doors down. He misses hearing Sam think – misses feeling Sam’s effort. Sam threw his back into politics. Josh misses feeding off of that interminable energy. Misses… making Sam happy. Misses the privilege of intimacy. Misses the sheer challenge of being Sam’s friend.

 

Josh remembers Sam – the real Sam – in one way, and only one way. He remembers being in the kitchen late one night, the scent of garlic permeating their clothes, Sam scrambling to stir the pasta sauce while Josh pops open a bottle of red wine. The steam from the spaghetti noodles makes Sam’s hair stick to his forehead.

 

“Try this,” Josh says softly, holding a glass out to Sam. “Hold it in your mouth a minute.”

 

Sam shoots him a questioning look, but does as he’s asked. He watches the younger man suck in his cheeks as the bitterness washes over his tongue. And then he’s kissing Sam, hard. Their first kiss, and he’s tasting all of it, every high and low note – the bittersweet everything – and Sam’s dropped the spoon and is now cupping his face – teardrops-mouth-heart on fire – breath becoming obsolete – molding, wrapping around each other – he’ll never top this moment, not ever. He’s ruined for anyone else.

 

Josh remembers Sam as a pot of sauce, boiling over.


End file.
